


The Quiet Rattle of Chains

by junko



Series: Scatter and Howl [6]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renji wakes up to realize he still has a dog collar around his neck....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet Rattle of Chains

Renji dreamed that Kenpachi Zaraki was standing on his throat. He could hear the bells of Zaraki’s hair rattling…. No, that wasn’t right. Clinking? Clattering like... chains?

With a start, Renji woke to find he’d never taken off the collar and the chain leash was all tangled up and choking him. Byakuya seemed to have rolled on part of it. By sitting part way up at an odd angle, Renji was able to work open the buckle around his throat. He sucked in a deep breath once he was free. 

“Well, that was monumentally stupid,” Renji muttered in the dark. Sitting up more properly, Renji slowly worked the chain out from all the places it had gotten stuck. It seemed the big problem was that one of the links had gotten caught on a corner of the bed frame. “Jeez, I really could’ve choked myself to death. Naked and wearing a dog collar is so not how I want my body found.”

Byakuya murmured something sleepily. He’d rolled over when Renji slid the chain out from under him. Now his back was to Renji. After tucking the covers back up around Byakuya’s shoulder, Renji pulled himself up out of bed. 

He had to piss like a racehorse. 

After availing himself of the chamber pot in the water closet just off the suite’s changing room, Renji debated the merits of crawling back into the warm bed or heading out in search of a bath. As he considered, he hung on the doorframe of the changing room, looking at the way the light of the breaking dawn fell across Byakuya’s sleeping form. The bed was a mess. Byakuya’s back was to Renji, but even the shape of him was elegant and long. One of Byakuya’s legs stuck out from under the covers, one cream-pale calf exposed to the chill. His hair was an inky jumble almost indistinguishable from the shadows. Renji was sorely tempted to spoon up to that long, lean body and just hold him until the morning forced Renji back to duty.

But there was something super-gross on his stomach. Actually, Renji knew exactly what it was and that just made a bath seem extra necessary. Honestly? Some of it might be in his hair. Also, he smelled all over of cheap cherry-flavored lube. 

After covering up Byakuya’s exposed foot, Renji quietly gathered up his things. Finding his cherry blossom robe, Renji grabbed Zabimaru and his uniform and headed for the sento. The bathhouse wouldn’t be open to the public for hours yet, and the master’s entrance had a key hanging right outside by the private shower. He would know he was alone.

Which, as much as Renji hated to admit it, was important right now. It wasn’t that he was afraid he couldn’t take someone who might try it on, but he figured he might be on his guard all the time, unable to relax.

Creeping out as quietly as he could, he tried not to wake Byakuya. Renji slid the door to the master’s suite closed softly and moved out into the silent corridor. 

All the nearby doors were closed tightly and the halls were empty and dim. It was only as Renji made his way down towards the kitchen did there start to be some hint of activity. Even before he heard the sounds of chopping vegetables, the smells of miso simmering and fish frying drew his nose. Hushed voices organized cleaning crews and directed launderers and delivery people. Renji moved among the servants with nods of greeting and rote and mumbled ‘good mornings.’ Someone he didn’t know, tending the fire, started to stand at attention as though some high lord had invaded their space, but the elder man moving a pot of hot water onto the hanger, smiled at Renji and said, “Ah, it’s just Renji-kun, isn’t it? No need to fret.”

Renji smiled and nodded. “Off to the sento,” he explained, with a glance at his ratty yukata. 

“Ah, nice for some,” the old man teased.

With a nod, Renji wove his way through the busy kitchen, giving a little wave to Miko, the head cook, who told him, “Come back in an hour and I’ll have your breakfast ready to take up. You can save Eishirō the trip.”

“Be happy to,” Renji said, stealing a discarded bit of fried fish tail on his way out.

“Oi! Don’t eat the garbage,” she shouted after him. “I was going to use that for fish stock!”

The dash across the snow-covered garden was cold on Renji’s bare feet, especially since he didn’t know the way as well as Byakuya. Snow hid the path, so he’d had to double back once, having almost headed off toward the little island with the Tanuki shrine. 

Though there was an outdoor shower, Renji decided it was too cold for that. His toes were already a little red from all the walking in the snow. After a quick hunt for the key, he let himself into the darkened sento. 

He hadn’t been back, of course, since Isoroku’s weird… assault. The place seemed dark and echo-y. The sound of the gurgling hot springs was unusually loud in the emptiness. The tang of metal hung in the steamy air. After setting his clothes and Zabimaru on a near-by bench, Renji felt his way to the shower. Rather than try to hunt up a match to light the lanterns, he headed to the showers in the dark. Though the sun hadn’t quite yet risen, the high windows let in just enough murky, pre-dawn light to keep Renji from crashing into anything too painfully. He managed to get his yukata on the peg, after only dropping on it on to flooring twice.

Hanging off the wall near the shower nozzle furthest from entrance to the sento was a basket of ‘lost and found’ that doubled as a kind of communal toiletries bin. From it, Renji helped himself to a bar of soap. Letting the water sluice over his body, Renji scrubbed himself clean. Returning the soap to the basket, he dug around through the items until he found some shampoo. There wasn’t a lot left. He squeezed the tub, rolling it up like a toothpaste tube. Even then, the amount that eked out barely soaped all his hair and it smelled strongly of lily-of-the-valley. Still, it got the job done. He felt clean enough afterwards. Most of the cloying flower smell went down the drain with the suds.

Renji stood under the hot water a long time. He felt unusually… beat-up, despite the fact that sex hadn’t been all that rough last night. Maybe it was just this place with its new ghosts, and thinking about what was going to happen when Isoroku went to trial. 

Knowing Central 46, no one would hear a word until a sentence was passed. They were so fucking arbitrary—they might just let Isoroku off. Isoroku was a noble just like they all were, after all. 

And, it was such a little thing. Renji felt stupid about having reacted like he had. A little unwanted nipple play? The charges seemed overblown considering that there were plenty of times that Byakuya had done worse.

Ugh, there was a thought.

Renji twisted off the knob, stopping the water. Pulling a towel from the cubby, he dried himself off. He thought about soaking for a bit in the hot springs, but he wasn’t up for it—or so he told himself, anyway. He got himself dressed, pulled his hair back, and slid Zabimaru into place. He tucked his tabi into his pocket. He’d have to do another snow dash; his sandals were at the master’s backdoor, next to Byakuya’s.

Shunpo brought him to the kitchen’s door in no time. In the mudroom, instead of slipping out of sandals, he pulled the tabi over his feet. Seeing him the head cook shook her bright orange curls. “Sit by the fire a bit,” she commanded. “Breakfast isn’t quite ready.”

Renji did as he was told and pulled a stool close to the hearth in what he hoped was an out of the way spot. Someone thrust a bowl of tea into his chilled hands, and he held the steam to his face.

The chatter of the kitchen staff washed over him pleasantly. He covered a contented yawn with the back of his hand, and that’s when he noticed a very surly looking servant sitting at the end of the staff breakfast table glaring at him. When their eyes met, the young man got up and strode over. The dishwasher tried to catch the young man’s arm, as though to hold him back, and said, “Don’t make it worse, Natsou!”

But the young man—Natsou, apparently—shook her off and kept advancing on Renji. Renji considered standing up, but he’d tower over this kid, who couldn’t be much taller than Hanataro. He had a similar haircut, though his locks were lighter, a honeyed brown, and his eyes large and deep chestnut brown. Reaching Renji, Natsou stood in front of him, trembling. 

Renji sipped his tea and watched Natsou carefully. After a moment, he asked, “We got some problem, son?”

“I’ve nothing to do today, thanks to you.”

Renji wasn’t terribly versed in the hierarchy of servant’s kimono, but… Natsou’s seemed less layered than Eishirõ’s, but far more than the cook’s. So, maybe this kid was someone’s personal servant? Renji had no idea. More than that he couldn’t quite parse the problem. Natsou was mad at him for somehow having given him a day off? “I… what? Am I supposed to be sorry for that?”

The boy stood there trembling, as if too emotional to speak. It was Miki who explained, “Natsou is Lord Isoroku’s valet.”

“Oh,” Renji said in understanding. Taking another long sip of his tea, Renji shifted to lean back, as if disinterested, against the wall of the fireplace. “I still ain’t feeling sorry for you, kid. If your master had kept his hands to himself, you wouldn’t be in this fix. It ain’t down to nothing I did.”

Natsou blinked rapidly. “Oh!” His eyes flitted over Renji and then he blushed deeply. His voice dropped to a strangled whisper, “I heard differently… I…” he dropped into a bow. His voice almost inaudible over the hiss and snap of the logs in the fire, “I’m sorry it happened to you, too.”

Before Renji could ask what Natsou meant by that, one of the teamsters lounging near the door, said, “You saying you’re so hot that even the guys can’t keep their hands off you, Renji? ‘Cuz I heard different too. I heard it was a fight.”

“Where you hearing this shit?” Renji asked. 

“Well, it’s the official charges, ain’t it?” The teamster said. “‘Assault.’ What the hell else is that? The only thing none of us can figure is why it ain’t you behind bars. It’s never been a crime for one of them to hit one of us before.”

Miki and many of the women in the kitchen, however, had paled noticeably, their work slowing or coming to a complete stop. Miki’s eyes were downcast, staring hard at the plate she arranged, as she said, “There are other kinds of assault, you fool.”

The teamster, who continued to polish the tack and harasses, glanced up and frowned. “What’cha nattering on about, woman? A man can’t be ‘assaulted’ like that.”

“He can, too,” stammered Natsou, his face set very differently now, but still as fierce.

“Ah, maybe a little shrimp like you,” sneered the teamster, “But look at the lieutenant. He’s twice your size. He’s a trained fighter, a killer.”

Renji stared into his tea bowl for a minute, knowing every eye was on him. He didn’t really want to talk about this any more, but he caught Natsou’s gaze and held it. “That’s exactly what he said to me. He said given our differences—my size, my strength, my background—people would blame me. I’d already bruised him when I told him to stop, and he said he’d use that as proof that I’d stepped out of my place, dared to injure a nobleman. So I let him push himself on me.” Renji shook his head and grimaced at the memory. “But we both forgot about my spiritual pressure, didn’t we? And when he pushed too far… well, he fainted.” Renji’s voice grew louder now. “I should’ve let him fucking drown in that sento. But I couldn’t do that, could I? Like you say, I’m a soldier.” Renji said, catching the teamster’s gaze. “I swore an oath to protect the Seireitei and everyone in it… even dicks like him. So I sent for the Fourth, and now he’s in jail there. I didn’t press the charges, Captain Unohana did. So fuck you.”

Renji didn’t want to take the weight of everyone’s pity and horror and confusion and whatever the fuck else hung in their eyes, so he made a beeline for the door. On the way out, he slammed his tea bowl on a counter. The fragile porcelain hit so hard, it shattered in his fist. But he didn’t stop. He flicked the broken bits from his hand and stormed out the door. He didn’t stop moving until he reached the division, not even noticing the snow soaking into his tabi or the blood dripping from his palm.

#

Byakuya waited, expecting Renji to return to bed any moment. Rolling over to stare at the place Renji normally lay, Byakuya frowned. Perhaps Renji’d had an early morning meeting he’d neglected to inform Byakuya about. Byakuya would be much happier when the shift change happened in a few weeks and Renji’s duty started in the afternoon. It would be far pleasanter to sleep in a bit longer, together. 

Shifting again, the chain leash snaked to the floor with a clinking thunk. 

Especially after last night, Byakuya thought.

Sitting up, he hunted through the bed for other discarded toys—lube, handcuffs, and nipple clamps. Opening the drawer on the table beside the bed, Byakuya slid the things small enough to fit inside. His fingers lingered on the clamps. They had a lovely effect, but Byakuya worried that using them had been insensitive on his part. Not only because he hadn’t quite prepared Renji for their sudden application, which was most assuredly a mistake, a textbook one at that, but also because, of the few details Byakuya knew about what had happened with Isoroku, nipples had been involved somehow. 

And now Renji was gone, without even a note.

After straightening up the bed and removing the stained sheets, Byakuya rang for breakfast. 

In truth, Byakuya wasn’t worried that Renji was gone for good, just that he may have gone off in a funk to sulk or otherwise draw into himself. It was Byakuya’s sense that while Renji was very talkative, he sometimes used happy chatter to cover up his true feelings. Certainly, Renji was forthcoming in matters that came easily to him, like love and affection. 

But, Byakuya thought, as he got out of bed to return the heavy chain and collar to its place in the tansu, Renji hated to admit to weakness—after all, the only time he’d ever used his safe word in the bedroom was when he was nearly choking to death.

The drawer slid closed with a click. How hard must it be for a man like Renji to have been laid low by one such as Isoroku?

Renji had suffered many defeats lately.

It couldn’t be easy for him.

Even though it was painfully obvious to Byakuya that that reckless, wild fool was growing exponentially stronger every time they battled, Renji would have a difficult time seeing it that way. He always looked too far afield, comparing himself with the likes of the unstoppable Ichigo Kurosaki and his group of magic friends, no doubt.

And Renji’d gone into the last battle crippled. 

He’d had no time to recover at all from the purification ritual. It still bothered Byakuya the extent to which the process had made Renji seem duller, somehow, as though not only his blade, but also his wits had somehow been made less sharp. 

At least he seemed to be recovering from that. Nothing had made Byakuya feel guiltier than the way Renji seemed to not all there after the purification, like he’d been in a fog, lost.

When breakfast arrived, Byakuya noticed it had been set out on the larger tray and, it seemed to him, quickly rearranged and spread out to disguise the missing half. “The staff saw Renji leave,” Byakuya surmised. “How was he when he left?”

“Oh…” Eishirō began cautiously, “I’m not entirely certain, my lord. Though the kitchen staff reported some… roughness between a teamster and the lieutenant.”

Roughness? What on earth was that supposed to mean? “Are you saying they scuffled? What argument would Renji have with a master of horses?”

“It was the other way around, my lord, and apparently it was to do with the rumors surrounding Lord Isoroku’s arrest,” Eishirō said, his head bowed.

This sounded ominous. Byakuya poured himself a bowl of tea. “Was the teamster terribly injured?”

“It was an exchange of sharp words, not blows, your lordship,” Eishirō reassured him.

“I see. Thank goodness,” Byakuya said. Relief flooded into him sharply; he’d not realized how worried he was that Renji’s temper had gotten the better of him yet again. “Do you know what the rumors are?”

Eishirō’s head had not come up in a long time, though he glanced up briefly now. “I’m afraid I can not repeat in polite company what the teamster told me when I pressed him, my lord. It would be an insult of the highest order.”

“To whom? Who would it insult?”

Eishirō’s voice was very quiet as he said, “Any man who loves another.”

“Ah,” Byakuya said in an understanding that set his jaw hard and left his stomach feeling hollow. Perhaps after he ate, Byakuya would ask this teamster exactly what was said and whether or not he would care to repeat it, in full, to Byakuya’s face.

#

Renji was in a terrible mood when he reached the lieutenant’s office. To the first person he saw that seemed to still be on duty, he snarled, “Oi, you there! Go fetch a pair of waraji from my room!” 

The woman looked stunned. “You want me to go into your room. Like, inside?”

“The sandals are just on my footlocker for fuck’s sake. Ah, fuck it,” Renji said turning around and stomping back out into the snow. He could smell the wood smoke of the fireplace in the break room, and all Renji’d wanted was to finally stick his toes in front of the embers for five seconds. What was the point of being a lieutenant if you couldn’t get people to fetch you things? 

When he slid open the door to his quarters, he sighed. It was just as well; he needed fresh tabi, too. These were soaked clear through. Given that he’d just left a bloody handprint on the door, he should probably find an old bandana to use as a makeshift bandage, too. In five minutes, he was freshened up. He’d jammed a bandana over forehead, too, because Renji was not feeling like today was the kind of day he wanted people to stare at his ink. And, no matter how many times people saw the forehead tats, they still seemed drawn to gape at it openmouthed.

It was like he wanted to say, “My eyes are down here.”

He kind of thought he might know a little bit about how Matsumoto felt. Eh, probably not. Besides, Renji got the sense that most people stared at his facial ink with a mixture of horror and ‘what even is it?’

Renji made his way back to the office. He stopped off in the break room and brewed a fresh pot of tea. Most of Urahara’s candy was gone from the table, only his “Eat at your own risk” sign and one very unappetizing looking greenish jawbreaker remained. At least Renji hoped it was a jawbreaker. It was too big to be Soul Candy, wasn’t it? Which made Renji wonder what would happen if you took Soul Candy in the Land of the Dead? Would you die, with your soul pushed out? Or would what came out the other side be… what, some kind of undead form of your physical body? Nope, nope…. too hard to consider before a lot more tea.

Once the tea was ready, he poured himself a big mug from the collection in the cabinet. Most of these had come from the Human World, and Renji favored the one that advertised the Tokyo Tower. Brown stains muted the interior of the white porcelain, but Renji always felt the left over smudge added a certain flavor. The warm cup felt good on the tiny cuts on his palm underneath the bandage. 

People started to drift in for shift change. Renji took up a spot against the wall near the fire and nursed his tea. He should go in, but unless something exciting had happened overnight, Renji knew there wasn’t going to be a lot of work waiting for him. Maybe they should finally get around to doing that full inventory of the supply warehouse. According to the logs Renji’s found, that slacker Ginjirō Shirogane had put it off for going on two years now. Well, who could blame him? He’d been busy designing super-awesome high-tech sunglasses and taking care of his only daughter. Besides, Renji’d heard the rumors. Everyone said the supply warehouse was haunted.

But, again, what the hell was that in the Soul Society? A ghost among ghosts? Renji’s personal theory was that it was actually infested with rats—or at most a little tiny Hollow—maybe some weirdly cute little bugger, like those lizards and shit they saw in Hueco Mundo.  
When Renji’d heard Yammy had a puppy, he kind of wanted to adopt it and bring it back. But before he could even talk about the idea to Byakuya, the pup had disappeared. Run away, he hoped, and not somehow in the clutches of Mayuri.

Oh, yeah, speaking of that, Renji wondered if they’d be hearing from Aunt Masama today.

With a wicked smile on his face, he headed to work.

#

The kitchen staff all dropped to their knees when Byakuya entered their space. He felt a little stab of guilt when he noticed that their breakfast was being laid out on the staff dining table. “I’m looking for the teamster who spoke to Renji this morning.”

“Oh shit,” someone breathed. 

Byakuya moved over to stand over the person who’d spoken. Either this was the man himself, or someone who knew him. He would be of a typical built for a teamster: hard and lean and solid. His hair was a tangle of salt and pepper curls and he had a dark goatee. “Are you he?”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect, my lord.”

“Indeed,” Byakuya said dryly. “I wish to continue this discussion in private. Come.”  
With that Byakuya walked out the servant’s door and waited just outside, under the little veranda. A few seconds passed, and Byakuya wondered if the teamster had turned and fled. But, eventually, the door slid open and the man crawled out on his knees. 

He threw himself into the most supplicating bow. “Have mercy, my lord!” he begged.

“I’m not known for it,” Byakuya admitted. The breeze was icy and his breath fogged. The hem of his haori flapped. The sky was bright blue, shockingly clear. The sun blazed on the white blanket of snow. “You will tell me what you said to the house steward.”

“I’d rather not,” he said. “I regret it! I regret everything, my lord. Please think of my family. My wife! My two boys!”

“It is you who should have thought before speaking,” Byakuya reminded him. 

“I didn’t know the lieutenant was your lover, my lord. I swear.”

“I suspect you must be the very last soul in the Seireitei to not,” Byakuya said. “I’m sure you also didn’t expect the house steward to betray you so soundly. Perhaps you’re already a nuisance to this household? Would your banishment be a favor to all?”

“But… but… I’m not your staff, my lord, I belong to—“

“I can see perfectly well, teamster. You wear my cousin’s livery. You seem very forgetful of yourself today, however,” Byakuya said. “Your master is a guest in my house, I am his clan head. Your fate lies squarely in my hands.”

The teamster sucked in his breath and knelt there, trembling in the snow. “I’m sorry.  
Please don’t make me say what I said.”

“Because you are sincerely ashamed of it, or because you know how much it will anger me?”

“… Yes?”

Byakuya frowned. It wasn’t satisfying in the least to have this man groveling, particularly when Byakuya had no idea the true depth of his insult. Had the teamster merely muttered something innocuous about men together or had he dared to imply that somehow Renji’s interest in men in general had made it acceptable for a specific one to force himself upon him?

Given that Eishirō wouldn’t repeat it, it most likely was something like the latter. 

What Byakuya really wanted was to punch this teamster in the face. But, that was impossible with him lying on the ground like this, trembling and moaning in fear. Kicking him seemed… ignoble.

Silence would be torture enough, Byakuya decided and he walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in one of the comments of the last installment, for whatever reason, the tension of this story seems continues to be unrequited in this chapter. I'm sorry to leave you all waiting for the Muse's shoe to drop, as it were.
> 
> Also, belated happy birthday to Byakuya (I could have done, but utterly failed to make his actual birthday coincide with the events in the soap, alas.) Also, happy birthday to my AO3 membership... as of 2012-01-31, 3 years now.


End file.
